


Piety and Profanation

by Pardra



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Male My Unit | Byleth, Politics, Religion, Romantic Tension, Slice of Life, bylad, implied Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Byleth, sorry I couldn't help it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pardra/pseuds/Pardra
Summary: Dimitri has some concerns that Byleth, as a newly made and inexperienced Archbishop, may weaken the church. Byleth does not.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 18





	Piety and Profanation

Dimitri rose later than usual that morning, confused by the slowly changing light that marked the spring season. He had nothing pressing to do, so what would it hurt to sleep a little more that morning?

“Your Majesty, the Archbishop is waiting for you in your study,” Dedue’s rich voice cut through his sleepy haze.

In an instant, the king was out of bed, pulling on fresh clothing and running a brush through his hair. He was not fit to meet the Archbishop, but he was hopefully acceptable for an old friend. Dedue shook his head as he hurried out of the bedroom toward his study.

“Thank you, Dedue, please go ahead and have breakfast.”

The study was not far, but Dimitri still almost missed it, his thoughts jumbled. He had sent Byleth a letter, an official letter, not a request or summons. The Archbishop coming here was--

“Hello, Dimitri,” said the Archbishop.

The last vestiges of sleep left his mind as he heard his name spoken in that even voice. The Archbishop waited in his study as Dedue had said he would be. He was nearly invisible save his white-green hair as he stood outside the shaft of sharp morning light, clad almost entirely in black and purple. The last time Dimitri had seen Byleth, he had been wearing his official uniform as the Archbishop, very similar to what Rhea had worn, mostly white. The Sword of the Creator was on his hip, as usual. Even in the king’s own home, it was rude to ask him to remove it.

“Pr—Archbishop,” Dimitri greeted, a relieved smile had tugged his lips upward as it always did when he saw the man. He looked in good health, and indeed looked more himself than he had. “It is good to see you again after these long months.”

“It has only been nine weeks,” Byleth countered, inclining his head. A dark, plain circlet of stainless steel encircled his brow, stark against his hair like a black halo.

“So it has,” Dimitri conceded, stepping closer, around the ancient oak desk that had belonged to countless ancestors, kings and queens who had each left their own dents and scratches, polished into obscurity. He had left his own already, the most recent a dark stain from a snapped pen.

“I must confess I did not anticipate a response in person.”

The pale head lifted; green eyes unreadable. The king remembered when they were dark, when the pale hair was the same deep blue green as the ocean a lifetime ago, when another Dimitri, hunted in the night had met him, dark and pale and silent beside Jeralt. He had been lesser than Dimitri, a mere mercenary who offered him no respect other than what cursory politeness was due. Then he had been his professor and quickly became irreplaceable to him and the rest of his Lions. Now they were here, he, a king, and Byleth, one step away from god.

Never had Byleth seemed so close and so untouchable as now, dark and holy.

“Am I not allowed to leave Garreg Mach? Even to visit my friends?”

Dimitri, embarrassed at how his words had been misconstrued, shook his head quickly. “Of course not! That wasn’t what I was trying to say, I’m just… flattered.”

Byleth looked at him, looked at his hand, fingers extending. “You are king.”

“…So I am.”

Byleth smiled, in his own way, and stepped closer as well, into the light. There was a tiny braid hanging by his right ear, wrapped in purple and grey. “So, the barons want to remove the statue of the goddess from the square.”

“Yes,” Dimitri said, eye focused on the braid. There was a tiny clear bead at the end of the ribbon. “It has been there since the time of Queen Isolde. It was damaged a little during the skirmishes over the years, but it is minor damage. I am not sure why they suddenly want it removed, especially after such a triumph.”

Was now not a time to be most pious and thankful to the goddess, for their victory? For keeping their freedom?

“I take no issue with its removal. It is ugly,” Byleth said easily, with no hint of the dismay that Dimitri himself had felt.

The king felt his mouth open, his jaw working, but his tongue was still. A moment later he was able to squeeze a question out of his throat. 

“Remove it? Because it is ugly? Pr—Byleth, you are the Archbishop!” He shook his head. Calm down, Dimitri. Yes, the statue has been worn by age being in public, and was cut with very severe, squarish features, but surely Byleth just meant to replace it.

“Very well, I will see if I can find someone to repurpose it, and I will commission the finest sculptors to replace it—"

“Not because it is ugly. I was merely pointing out that it is ugly.” After a moment. “Do they want it replaced?”

“They did not say,” Dimitri responded, wary, as if approaching an unfamiliar dog.

“Then do not replace it.”

“Professor!”

“It would be a waste of resources.” He could have sworn Byleth was laughing at him. Was it because he had slipped up?

The king paced to the window, peering out at the mountains, but finding nothing to focus on so he paced away again, burning out the anxious energy. His leg brushed Byleth’s dark cloak, but the older man stood unmoving, watching. This was not what he had expected, and he wasn’t sure how to explain his jumbled thoughts to the man.

Calm as a rock in the stormy seas, Byleth watched.

“Speak,” Byleth bade, and Dimitri did.

“You are the Archbishop, and we are in a time of upheaval!” Dimitri said, whirling and walking back to Byleth, closer than before, to speak earnestly. 

He smelled like leather and books. At his side, the Sword of the Creator relaxed, the tip twitching lazily like a cat’s tail. Was it a warning, or something else? Byleth would not cut him down, but he always had his suspicions about the Sword, and how much agency it seemed to have.

The king drew in a deep breath and released it through his nose. “Byleth, I know Seteth is probably training you well, but you were not born into this sort of life. So early into your authority, you should be very careful with how you give and take, especially when it comes to nobles.”

“You’re worried about me,” Byleth said, his tone lighter with something like wonder. “Seteth instructs me, but it is not so difficult. Truly, Dimitri, it is only a statue.”

He reached out to brush his fingers against Dimitri’s bicep, on the blind side. He focused on the deep plum purple sleeve of the man’s undershirt. He did worry, especially with how lightly Byleth took his new station. Yes, Byleth was capable, he was not a child, and he was used to authority, but not this sort of authority. Not on this scale.

“Byleth, please, take this seriously. You represent an entire religion now; you are one of the most important people in all Fódlan. Your actions can shape the culture of this new age. Those with no faith may seek to further weaken the church.”

“By removing an ugly statue?”

“It is the principle of the thing! First one and then another, all of them, and then suddenly people will care less about the church, the goddess, your religion.”

“What use does the goddess have for empty prayers?” Byleth said easily. “If they forget so easily, their faith is weak.”

Dimitri felt flushed, skin heated with surprise. Was it blasphemy or piety? Byleth turned toward the window to look out as he had a few minutes before. Dimitri, drawn like a cart after a horse, followed, staring easily out over the shorter man’s head.

“Archbishop,” he tried again, wincing at the pleading in his tone.

The nobles would chew him up and spit him out again. Dimitri was no fan of people he loved learning things the hard way, especially with such high stakes.

“It is only a statue. If it distresses you so, My King, I will handle any further requests like this myself,” Byleth shrugged off his concern, tilting his head up and to the right to catch Dimitri in the corner of his vision.

He is smiling. His eyes were soft, and his mouth was curved. Dimitri didn’t feel mocked, but he did feel like he had no idea what was happening.

“I would like to know if it’s in my city, of course. And… if you do have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask me. I know the church has its failings, and I know faith in the goddess has waned, but I believe it can become a great tool for good in your hands.”

“I will try, which is why I am removing the statue. She would laugh at it.”

“Archbishop,” Dimitri countered flatly, confused.

The Sword flicked again, coiling like a snake, touching Byleth’s thigh. It was so careful, so lively, he could believe that it was alive in some aspect. Byleth didn’t look at it, and Dimitri tried to ignore the way it filled him with mild revulsion, like there was a wild serpent trying to crawl on his former professor.

“What would the goddess prefer, that I take care of her people, that I make sure that the children of nobles are well looked-after. That I can interfere if I see more students like Sylvain, Bernadetta, and Marianne? That I can help to sow kindness and capability into the nobility? That I help feed the poor?”

Byleth turned to face him, his nose inches from Dimitri’s chin. He didn’t step back, even though they were awkwardly, uncomfortably close this way.

“Or that her churches are full of murderers and liars with full pockets? And that the towns are full of her visage, scowling down on them?” Byleth asked curiously. “I do as she would like. She is a practical goddess, My King, and she prefers action, not prayers, not ugly statues.”

His former professor seemed to shrink a little then, as if spent from stringing so many words together. With the man’s head bowed, Dimitri licked lips suddenly dry, staring at the bright reflection in Byleth’s circlet. His breath stirred the man’s hair. My king.

“I… see, Archbishop. Forgive me for thinking you naïve. I only worry.”

The holy man lifted his head again, nodding. “Understandable, given my inexperience. I will ask you questions, as you suggested. If it pleases you.”

Dimitri had to smile at that, resisting the urge to see if his tunic felt as fine as it looked. “That would please me, Archbishop. Come, please, have breakfast with me.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know I was keeping you from it.”

He gestured sweepingly toward the door, and Byleth stepped out into the hall. The king followed close and then stepped up beside him to lead him through the unfamiliar palace. The professor’s sense of direction was not always stellar.

Later, as they watched the statue of the goddess, brought down low with chains as if it were a wild beast, the Archbishop commented idly:

“It’s a poor likeness anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this to be a gen exploration of Byleth as a religious figure from an outside source that is both close, and somewhat religious. It's kind of more... tense than I intended! Can't help it. Look at it as you will.
> 
> Please comment or kudos if you enjoyed!


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